The Spare Shirt Affair
by lilidelafield
Summary: Written for the short affair challenge on section 7. Napoleon has an accident in the office and needs a spare shirt. Will he find someone willing to lend him one?


Coffee/ Crimson

Napoleon Solo groaned, and rolling over onto his back, he opened first one eye, and then the other. He saw his partner grinning down at him.

"Okay, so what happened?"

He raised himself up on one elbow and looked down at himself. The entire front of his shirt was covered in a large brown **coffee** stain. He grimaced and sat up. He glared at Illya.

"Will you stop laughing at me and help me up? I think I've ricked my ankle!"

"What again? And who will you blame it on this time? Last time you blamed it on the office cat!"

"It _was_ the office cat! Stop chortling and get me up!"

Illya stifled his laughter and grasped Napoleon's outstretched hand.

"So, what _did_ happen? And how come the stain? Getting bored of the plain white?"

Napoleon flopped into the chair Illya proffered, and rubbed at his sore ankle.

"Har har! The stain was a cup of coffee for you, funny man. The kitchens said something about making a new variation of coffee, using a blend of known brands. They chose you to try it out for them. I agreed to bring it to you rather than drag you downstairs."

He indicated a flatted paper cup on the floor.

"I landed on it."

"So how come you fell over Napoleon?"

"I told you Illya, I tripped over that thrice blasted cat!"

Illya raised one eyebrow.

"Really? Again? You know what Mister Waverly will say, don't you? `Once is an accident. Twice is sheer carelessness!' He'll demand that the cat be permanently removed from the office."

Napoleon shook his head.

"That pesky animal has it in for me. He's always rubbing himself around my legs, and usually when I am in a hurry!"

Illya smiled.

"He likes you, my friend. I can't imagine why. By the way, you will need to change your shirt before you go in to see Mister Waverly for your meeting. How is your ankle. Can you stand and walk on it?"

Napoleon tested it gingerly then nodded, a sidelong smile of relief lightening his face.

"Yes. A bit sore, but it'll be fine. I'll get doctor Romeo to check it out after I've seen Mister Waverly….Oh no!"

"What?" Illya blinked in alarm at the horrified look on his partner's face. "what's the matter now?"

"I've no spare shirts here…"

"None?"

"I used my last one yesterday if you remember, when we got caught in that rainstorm and arrived back soaked to the skin. I forgot to bring more from home. Do you have one I can borrow?"

Illya shook his head.

"You are welcome to borrow any of them my friend, but you forget you are broader across the chest than I am. You'd never get it done up. Why not borrow one from Mark Slate or George Withers?"

Slapping a hand to his face, Napoleon slunk away to look for someone with a clean shirt they were willing to lend.

An hour later, Illya stared open-mouthed as he was called into Waverly's office to join the chief and the CEA in their meeting. Waverly had his pipe clamped firmly in his mouth in an attempt to hide his amusement. Napoleon's face was **crimson** with embarrassment.

Someone had agreed to loan him a shirt alright. Illya had seen it once before, the last time section vii had held a costume party. As a contrast to his smart navy-blue suit and burgundy tie, his shirt consisted of large, brightly coloured circles of green, orange and purple against a pink background.

With difficulty, Illya pulled his eyes away from his partner's amazing shirt and fixed his gaze on the end of Waverly's pipe.

"Um…you wanted to see me sir?" He spluttered. Illya could feel Napoleon's glare, and he steadfastly refused to look in his direction.

Waverly nodded.

" , Mister Kuryakin. I have a…a mission for you. You both had better leave at immediately. Mister….er…Mister Solo is desirous of a brief visit home to change his…he can brief you on the way. You will need to memorize the information in this file, Illya for your part in the mission. Dismissed."

As the door closed behind them, both men swore they heard the chief snorting with laughter. Napoleon closed his jacket and did the buttons up as if that would hide the loud garment beneath.

"Mark Slate is going to pay for this!" He muttered darkly. "I swear he is going to pay!"

Illya watched as Napoleon rounded the corner of the corridor, then his knees buckled, and he slid to the floor, tears of laughter pouring down his face.

"Attaboy Slate!"


End file.
